Week 44 - The ghost walk

A tall man stood in an open field. A raging orange bonfire blazed at his side. In front of him were three rows of hay bails, awaiting visitors to use as seats. He was dressed in faded jeans and an old Peril County High School letterman’s jacket. The night sky was filled with countless stars and just a hint of clouds crossing over a waning moon. 

Lou and Donna were in the middle of a group of around thirty who found themselves walking up to this tall man and his bonfire. They held hands and huddled close to one another, fighting off the chill of the night. There were plenty of hay bails for everyone as they all found places to sit and listen. 

“You will hear many stories tonight,” the tall man said, his voice deep and clear. “Some are for fright. Some are for fun. Mine is different. Mine is a tale of warning. Because this tale is true. I know, because it happened to me!” 

Donna sat, rapt in wonder. She had been coming to the Ghost Walk in Black Grass since she was a little girl. This storytelling fundraiser for the local library was a decades-long tradition that featured community members telling ghost stories at various locations across town. And, of course, there was coffee, hot chocolate, pizza, and ice cream for sale after you finished. 

The tall man continued his tale. Donna had heard this one before; the one about the hitchhiking girl. This speaker was a frequent participant at the event and must be running out of stories, she thought. Looking over at Lou, she saw her partner checking her email. “What are you doing?” she whispered forcefully. 

It took the stab of a sharp elbow to grab Lou’s attention. “I’m lookin’ for a shipment announcement for the shop. I need a set of tires for Ustice Jenkins’ truck and they didn’t come in today.” She matched her girlfriend’s whisper. 

Donna gave a wide-eyed look and motioned to the tall storyteller, signaling to pay attention. Lou nodded and put her phone in her coat pocket.

“She said her name was Mary. She was wearing a sundress. Yellow with blue flowers if I remember. And I thought it was much too cold that night for her to be walking that lonely road with no coat. So, I offered her mine.” The tall story teller slipped off his jacket and pantomimed putting it around the shoulders of someone else. 

The first time Donna had heard this story, she remembered, was probably ten years prior. She had just started high school and hadn’t met Lou yet. This story, she suddenly realized was a huge turning point for her. When she first heard this tale, it became clear that she wasn’t interested in a boy putting his coat around her shoulders. She wanted to take care of the girl! It would take a couple more years to articulate exactly what she was feeling and finally meeting Lou would seal the deal. But this was the first step on her road to true acceptance and happiness. 

She realized she’d zoned out for a few minutes as the tall-teller continued. “When I got back to her house the next morning, it looked abandoned. I knocked on the door, but it just creaked open. Inside, sitting just by the door, I found my letterman’s jacket, hanging from the back of a chair. And a Peril County High School yearbook, dated 1958. Inside the front cover was a picture of a beautiful young girl. It read “Dedicated to the memory of Mary Whitaker.” The girl in the picture looked exactly like the girl I drove home just the night before.”

Donna squeezed Lou’s hand and leaned into her shoulder. She’d never thought about the importance of this story in her life before tonight. The thought of sharing this with Lou crossed her mind, but she decided to keep this little memory private. 

The tall story teller slipped his letterman’s jacket back on and directed the group to their next destination. They walked past a few spooky scenes, with witches cackling and a fog machine at one and zombies rattling the bars of a cage at another. Lou perked up for these a little. “Wanna go to the Haunted Forrest after this?” she asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe? Are you having fun?”

Lou took a swig of coffee from an oversized tumbler. “I’m with you, right?” she said, giving her girlfriend a wink. 

After a few minutes walk, they arrived at their next stop. In the back corner of an abandoned parking lot, an older woman in an antique dress sat quietly knitting in a rocking chair. Her skin was dark and crinkled around the edges, like thin paper. Her white hair was tied up in a bun and a shawl was draped around her shoulders. An old coal oil lamp sat burning on a wooden table to her side, creating long grey shadows on the concrete walls. 

Again, rows of hay bails lay in front of the storyteller, awaiting guests to take their seats. A family of five took up most of the front row, so Donna and Lou hung towards the back. 

“Well, fancy meetin’ y’all here tonight,” the old woman started. “I ‘spect y’all wantin’ ta hear a story. I got one for ya. My granddaddy’s grandaddy was the first free black man to own a parcel a land here in Peril County. At least, that’s according to my great-grand-maw, anyway. He was a farmer who worked the land up on what is now known as Topper’s Bluff. I see a look of recognition in some a y’alls eyes out there. Local folks knows that Topper’s Bluff is one a the most haunted places in Peril County. And this is the story as to why.”

Lou leaned over to Donna. “Is there really a place called Topper’s Bluff?” She seemed skeptical. 

She nodded. “It’s past Preacher’s Fork up the river. About twenty minutes from town.”

The seasoned storyteller continued to spin a yarn about a family of abolitionists who lived on the creek and welcomed her ancestor’s family to live and work as equals. And, as this was the height of the Civil War, some folks didn’t take too kindly to any of this. The family had a son everyone called “Topper” because he spent most of his days in the tops of trees. And soon Topper began spending a lot of time with a young girl named June from across the creek. 

“Some folks will turn they noses up today at a white boy and a black girl spendin’ time together. So, just imagine what it musta been like way back when,” she said. The old storyteller took her knitting needles and placed them on the table, turning to better face her audience. “Well, roads in those parts ain’t like they is today. So folks traveled in the creek a lot of the time. Topper’s mommy and daddy had gone to town for supplies, so it was just him and June that was at the homestead when a small troupe of Confederate soldiers came ridin’ down the way. June and Topper was where they usually was, up in the top a some tree when they first heard the horses ploppin’ in the water. So, he climbed down, leavin’ June to hide. He met the men with a rifle at the gate of their farm. It seemed they was wantin’ to commandeer horses and provisions for the war effort. Well, ol’ Topper wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“You think this really happened?” Lou asked Donna.

“I’ve heard a version of it before, when I was a kid,” she replied. 

Coming gingerly to her feet, the storyteller continued. “Well, Topper pacified them men with a pound of flour and some salt bacon. More worried about them seein’ June than anything, he just wanted ‘em gone. They seemed satisfied to be gettin’ a free meal and went about their way. Once the horses couldn’t be heard, he motioned for her to climb down. ‘Run on home, June,’ he said. ‘And tell your daddy they’s bad men aroun’!’ It was the next mornin’ when June went back over to see Topper and check on him. And what she fount planted a seed in her nightmares for the rest a her days. Them rebel boys must a not taken kindly to what went down. Maybe they seen young June and Topper hidden in the trees. Maybe they didn’t. But what they did when they came back was just somethin’ awful.”

“I can’t believe she’s telling this. There’s kids here, like five-year-olds!” Donna whispered to Lou. Her partner shot back a confused face and then looked back to the storyteller.

The old lady sat back down in her chair, seemingly exhausted. She shook her head and picked up her knitting once again. “Them Rebel boys must a come back in the night. I don’t know if they seen June with Topper. I don’t know if they was just mad they didn’t get enough bacon. But they treated that boy worse’er than you would your worst enemy. The first thing June seen was the drag marks on the creek bank. Streaks of blood and cloth and Lord knows what else for long stretches on either side of the bank in front of the farm. They must a dragged that poor boy behind their horses for hours. But it wasn’t until she turned up the creek to the farm that her heart broke in two. She found him hanging, splayed open like a deer. They hadn’t left much, but what was there was a sight no young girl should have ta witness. Had a little pocketknife is her dress, bless it. And she cut him out a that tree. The same one they was in just the day before. An’ she helt on to that poor boy til his mama and daddy made it back to the farm.”

“Now, ever since that night, they say if the moon is hangin’ just right and the creek isn’t runnin’ too high, you can hear those horses ploppin’ through the water. You can hear those Rebel boys shootin’ off their guns. And you can hear young Topper hollerin’ for help as they drag him through them rocks. But on a very special night, they say you might even see Topper. And he’ll be holdin’ hands with a young black girl. They’ll be wadin’ knee deep in the creek, laughing, Topper and June. And I can tell you that young June grew up to be my Great-Great-Great-Great Grand Mama, and she is the reason that I was named June all a those years ago.” 

The crowd began to applaud, but Ms. June just waved them off. She thanked them for coming and sent them off to the next stop on the tour. “That was amazing!” Lou said. “How have I not heard that?”

“When I was in middle school, a few of us went camping up there one night. Never heard anything, but we still scared ourselves so bad that we left just after midnight.” She put her head on Lou’s shoulder. 

Lou wrapped her arm around Donna. “You ever get scared or worried about what people think about us? Two girls, one dark-skinned, one light-skinned, bein’ out and open in Peril County?”

“I’ve thought about it, sure. But nothin’ will ever change if folks don’t change it. Us showin’ this town that there ain’t nothin’ wrong with two ladies livin’ and lovin’ together is a good thing. Besides, I think Black Grass is a lot more tolerant than folks might give it credit.” She took Lou by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

The pair walked along, side by side, to the next storyteller.